Choices
by Aphrodite's Apples
Summary: Have you ever heard the theory of multiple realities; that one choice made differently can create a whole new world? This is the story of the sixth year of Draco Malfoy, and how one choice changed everything and led him to her.
1. A Little Courage

**Introduction:**

Are you familiar with the theory of multiple realities? The basic idea is that for every decision that you make, somewhere in another reality you made a different choice; you chose door number two, you called that number, you told them how you really felt, you actually sent that e-mail, you really did hit that guy right on the jaw. Well, this is the story of what didn't happen, not in the story you know, this is the story about a different set of choices, a different set of circumstances, and the way those choices change us, and how we are changed by them.

This story takes place during Harry, Ron and Hermione's sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Dark Lord has risen, and Harry has once again fought with him and lived, but this time at the expense of his beloved god-father Sirius. However, once upon a time, in one version of reality, one choice was made differently, and it literally made a world of difference.

**Chapter One: A Little Courage**

It was long past midnight, but the windows of Malfoy Manner had yet to be dimmed. Narcissa sat bent double on a silk covered couch, her long blond hair falling nearly to floor, obscuring the red eyes ruined makeup and tears that still fell from her eyes. Malfoy paced by the fireplace, his pale face frozen in an expression of fear and terror. Narcissa let out a half choked sob and he stopped his pacing, and knelt before her, taking one of her long fingered hands in his own.

"It will be alright. They won't be able to keep father in Azkaban very long, the Dark Lord will rescue him, you'll see, everything will be fine." He said, trying to catch her eye through the curtain of her hair and her tears.

"It will not be fine." She hissed, pulling her hand from his and getting to her feet, she swayed slightly and he put out his arms to catch her, but she caught herself and walked to the fire. "The Dark Lord will let him rot there, just to prove a point to the others about his loyalty during the years He was out of power. The Dark Lord will do nothing unless we can prove that your father is still useful, still necessary."

"How do we do that?"

"There's nothing I can do, but there is something you can do. Something you have to do. There is no choice now, it has to be done."

"What is it mother?"

She turned to him, and he was repulsed by her. Her hair was sticky from her tears and stuck oddly to her face, her mascara had run down the length of her boney face and the black around her eyes made her look hollow and empty. Her red eyes magnified by her tears caught his and he was transfixed, and terrified by the madness he saw in this person he loved so dearly.

"You must take your father's place Draco." She reached out her hands as quickly as a snake and grabbed onto his arm at the wrist. She held on so tightly he thought her nails might pierce right through the skin. "You must become one of them, a Death Eater. It's what your father wanted, you must take his place and take on any task the Dark Lord asks of you, and in return you must ask for your father back. It's the only way Draco, Draco my dear, dear boy, do it for your mother. You have to. It's the only way. In the morning we will go to him, and you will ask to be accepted as His faithful follower. It's the only way."

He tried to twist out of her grip, but she wouldn't let go. The face that pleaded with him, the eyes that hinted of madness, the boney grip that felt like claws, it all terrified him. To see something so familiar, so beloved, to see it so twisted and distorted, it ate at him and turned his stomach. He wanted to badly to make things right for her, to make things go back to the way they had been. It would be so easy to say yes, to do anything to restore his mother to the way she should be, and yet something stopped him.

"No." He said, putting his free hand on top of hers and for the first time that evening feeling tears in his own eyes. "No, I can't mother, I'm sorry but I can't."

She let go of his wrist, looking as if he had hit her, she backed away toward the fireplace and turned toward it, holding her face in her hands.

"Why not?" She asked, turning back around suddenly "Why can't you, don't you love your father, wouldn't you do anything to help him? Don't you love me; can't you do this for me, what kind of son are you? It's the only way!" She screamed.

"I can't" he said, his voice breaking over a suppressed sob, "I don't want to be a death eater. I've thought about it, and sometimes I thought it would be great, and wanted to do it so badly, but I can't. I'm a coward. I'm just a coward, and if I become a death eater I'll be a coward forever. I don't want that, I don't want that life; it's not who I want to be. I already hate myself sometimes, most of the time maybe, and I hate it.

"I can't trade my life for his, I wish I could, I really do, but I can't. I'm just a coward, mother, I'm just a coward, but maybe someday I won't be."


	2. The Train to Hell

The summer passed in a blur, spent mostly wandering the grounds and gardens of the Malfoy Estate or trying to coax his mother into some kind of normalcy. The last few weeks however, he had simply given up trying to talk to her, according to the house elf that was caring for her, she did better when he didn't disturb her. He hadn't even said goodbye on his way to school.

He had left a pile of unanswered mail by his bed, he had meant to write back, to keep up the appearance that everything was still alright, but somehow he never got around to it. It wasn't a big surprise that when he arrived on the platform and sought out his friends that they turned their backs and walked away, as if it was some childish spat instead of something real.

It was early though, and he dragged his luggage onto the train, choosing a compartment near the back, near the nurses' station and the professors' compartment, hoping that he would be able to keep it for himself. People outside of his window ran back and forth, laughing and smiling and hugging their parent's goodbye and welcoming back their friends. Draco settled back into his seat and drew the blind on the window. It was hard enough to be alone without having to watch them.

The compartment light was on, but it felt darker, and he felt his eyes closing. It was so hard to sleep; the night seemed to make things worse, like the darkness opened up his mind to the things that he could shut out during the day. It wasn't too long before he had taken liquor from his father's study and started to drink it to help him fall asleep. It wasn't really sleep; but any kind of unconscious was preferable to the things his mind kept spinning around every time he tried to relax.

He thought of his father in prison, sometimes it was like he could actually see him, cold and alone in some horrible cell with a host of dementors outside sucking away every last happy thought and memory. Sometimes when he dreamt, and just before he would wake up, he would walk through the crowd of dementors to look at his father, and he would look up at him, and Draco would see himself staring back.

His long fingers had pulled the flask from his boot before he thought about what he was doing. Unscrewing the top was one of the few pleasures he still felt, he knew that three turns would unscrew it, he liked the feel of it, and how it felt the same every time. He took a long pull from flask and tried to ignore the fact that his hand was shaking. The vodka was warm and he felt as if he was a lighter, like some of the weight of his problems had simply disappeared.

Sometimes he heard their voices in his dreams, sometimes they came to watch him suffer and smile and sometimes they were just there and never saw him at all, so when he heard their voices he didn't notice at first that they were there.

"Is he sleeping?"

"Bloody hell, I didn't think he slept, at least not upside down or in a coffin or something."

"Don't be absurd Ron. Although I have to say, it is rather strange to see him asleep. He looks different somehow."

"You mean because he's not being a ferret faced little weasel and trying to curse us into horrible little pieces?"

"Ron, stop."

"Ferret faced weasel?"

"Yeah, that was weak; I think I might be getting sick or something."

"You're both positively abhorrent."

"Well Hermione, what should we do, everywhere else is full."

"I'm not sure, I guess we just stay here and hope he doesn't wake up."

"Hey Harry, you got a pen? I really want to draw a mustache on him; don't you think he'd look good in a mustache?"

"Ron, you'll do no such thing."

"That's hardly fair, you got to hit him, all I want to do is draw a mustache."

"He's got a point Hermione."

"Both of you hush. You'll wake him up."

That was odd. She was never nice in his dreams, she was always outdoing him, sometimes they would duel and she'd turn him into something terrible and everyone would laugh. It was unbearable, but now she seemed rather kind and warm and soft. It was puzzling, and troubling, but something to be thought about later, something to think about when he couldn't avoid thinking anymore.

The train traveled on, rocking gently on its tracks, the rhythm was soothing and simple and the noise of the train seemed to somehow whisper to him, things he couldn't quite hear or understand.

Suddenly light poured in, sliding through his eyelids like heated wires, he jumped up, covering his eyes and turning away from the light.

"Ron!" someone shouted.

He opened his eyes and they were there, standing around him. In a moment he understood that they must have been there the whole time, that the conversation he thought he had dreamed must have been true. He felt anger boil up within him; it wasn't fair, why must he always look like such a weak little fool? Falling asleep on the train like some baby who still needs to take naps was pathetic beyond words. He covered his eyes with one hand and ran out of the compartment, slamming the door open. Behind him he could hear Weasley say; "I told you he was a vampire, how else do you explain that?"

He was such an idiot; it was beyond comprehension how such an idiot hadn't forgotten a spell halfway through and turned himself into a leach, it was a simply stunning bit of luck.

Faces appeared at the windows of the compartments, eyes and faces peering at him, watching him, whispering. The door slamming must have got their attention, and now he would look like twice the fool and everyone would know before they even got off the train what a looser he was. He walked quickly through the hall, unable to stop and still knowing that he didn't have anywhere to go, eventually he would run out of hallway, what would he do then?

He could hear someone running behind him, trying to catch up with him, he gripped his wand in his pocket. If it was them he'd curse them into the hospital, hang the consequences, even if he earned himself a cell next to his father in Azkaban. He turned, wand at his side, but it wasn't them. It was Madame Pomfrey.

"You look terrible, simply terrible, come right this way I have just the thing to perk you up, you'll feel right as rain you'll see." She turned and started walking back down the hallway. It was humiliating, but he knew that refusing would only make things worse. He put down his head and pretended not to notice that all the faces where still there, that the whispering was louder now. As he got closer to their compartment he heard;

"Stop it, I'm telling you he must be ill."

"I'm still going with the vampire thing."

"Ron, you are an idiot. Harry, what do you think?"

"I'm not sure, but it seems like something is definitely wrong, I think we should keep an eye on things, just to make sure he's not up to something."

"I really think he was just-"

"Hush, there he is."

As he passed the compartment he could feel their eyes on him, he felt like throwing up, or throwing a chair out the window, he wasn't sure, maybe both.

Madame Pomfrey gave him some potion that tasted ghastly, but did make him feel a bit better. It was as he was handing her the empty cup that she said;

"It's a good thing Ms. Granger came to get me. You look a little better now, but you still don't seem very well. You should spend a night in the hospital wing, just to make sure this isn't something serious."

Granger? Why would she get the nurse, was this some new way they had thought of to make his life miserable? Wasn't it bad enough that he had humiliated himself, but she of all people had to go get the nurse?

"Mr. Malfoy, are you listening?"

"What? Oh, hospital wing. No, I just haven't been sleeping is all, I'm not sick, I'm fine, just fine."

"I'll be the judge of that, thank you. Well, come to the hospital wing after the feast and I'll give you a potion to help you sleep at least, but if you don't feel better in the morning I'll track you down and tie you to a sick bed. Now lie down and try to rest, there's only about an hour until we reach Hogsmeade."

As he lay down and watched the ceiling of the compartment jostle in the movement of the train he couldn't quite imagine a worse way to start the year.


	3. The Dream

A/N: Hello all, just a quick reminder that this is rated M so don't be too surprised by the mature content. I know it's short, but I haven't had a lot of time lately and decided to post this anyway. Enjoy, and please review!

He skipped the feast. He couldn't quite face his former friends, they were probably all laughing at him, whispering about him. He couldn't deal with it, not tonight. He took another long pull from his flask as he wondered up the stairs to the hospital wing, draining it completely. It didn't really help, but it made things vaguer, and it made his imagination worse at least. That was the worst of it sometimes, the things he could imagine.

Madame Pomfrey made good on her promise of a sleeping draught, and luckily she was distracted by a second year that had fallen out of the boat on the way to the feast and let him go with no more than a critical and pursed lipped glance.

The Slytherin common room was empty; its normal chattering crowd was still enjoying the welcoming feast. He found the room with his name plate and opened it to find that the house elves had already moved in his belongings and unpacked them. A fire glowed on one side of the room, and he watched it burn a while before uncorking the potion and locking his door behind him. It tasted dreadful, but as he started to pull on his pajamas he could feel it start to work.

He collapsed into his four poster bed laughing at how relaxed it made him feel, like all his muscles had turned to jelly and his head was like a balloon that was bobbing along the ceiling, just barely attached to the rest of his body. Laughing like that made him realize how long it had been since the last time he had even smiled. He thought about smiling on the train, when Granger had called Weasley an idiot. Of course he was an idiot, but something about hearing her say it had made him smile, almost involuntarily.

It was with this thought that he fell asleep, only half dressed on top of the covers of his bed.

It started normally, the dream. He was in class and Granger was there, the professor was speaking in a language he didn't understand and she knew all the answers even though she had no right to. She didn't even know magic existed until she was eleven and he had managed his first summoning spell at six years old, but she understood the professor and he couldn't.

This time though, she stopped and looked at him, and instead of raising her hand, she held it out to him, and he took it. It was warm and soft and she smiled at him, and the classroom melted away. They were in the infirmary and he was sitting in bed and she still held his hand, smiling at him. The sheet that was over him blew away in a sudden breeze and he watched it fly away into an infinitely extending hallway until it was too dark to see it anymore.

When he turned back toward her, she was close, so close, and he reached out a hand and pulled her face to his and kissed her softly. Her mouth was warm and wet and he licked her lips and she shuddered a bit and opened her mouth to him. He pulled her onto him, and she straddled him as they deepened the kiss. He wanted to devour her with that kiss, to subdue her, but he found himself subdued as she pressed herself closer to him.

He reached out for her shoulders and flipped her to her back and they were in his room at home. The silk sheets shone in moonlight as her hair spread out below her looked like some sort of halo. She smiled and laughed at him and he lowered himself to kiss her and caught her lower lip in his teeth. She was naked and glorious in the moonlight. He kissed her body, running a gentle hand over every curve.

"I love you." She whispered and he entered her slowly, gently, and he felt her hips rise against him and she moaned in his ear. He kissed her softly and looked deeply into her brown eyes and saw something he had never seen before. He pushed himself into her fully and she caught her lower lip in her teeth in a sort of gasp and he swore to himself that he would never love another woman. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he felt happier than he had ever felt before, like he was flying. She was all he needed.


	4. You Can't Make Me Love You

"You've got to be kidding. Blood hell this isn't happening, not her, what's wrong with me." He shot straight up in bed, and scrambled to his feet, frantically pacing. "What the fuck was in that sleeping draught. It was just the potion, just some fucked up dream." But he remembered running his fingers through her tangled hair, and the feel of her skin, and the taste of her lips.

"No!" He reached out and threw his fist into the wall. He could hear his knuckles grinding against the stone, and watched a little blood run down the grey wall, streaking it red. It should have hurt, and somewhere in his mind he knew that it did hurt, but he didn't feel it, not really. That was the part that scared him, it was like he was disappearing, like the world wasn't quite real anymore, or he wasn't.

He turned and leaned against the wall, looking at his hand, it was raw across the knuckles where the skin had split, but it would be fine. He knew he should go to the hospital wing, but it seemed so far away and so much trouble, besides he had class. It didn't take long to shower and change and bandage his hand, which had already started to scab over, and gather his books.

The common room was loud and full of people excited about their first day, mostly first years, but Pansy, Crabb, Goyle, and Blaise were there too. They turned to look at him as he walked into the commons, Pansy even started to walk toward him, a huge smile on her face, but he turned his face the other way and walked straight through the room, avoiding everyone's staring eyes. He would deal with them later, when he had the energy to.

History was interesting, but it was hard to pay attention, sometimes it felt like he would blink and suddenly ten minutes would have passed and the notes would already be erased to make room for new ones. History was his best subject, technically his second best because he got better marks in potions, but he knew that was because Snape changed his grade. He thought about staying after class but he knew that Binns wouldn't have a copy of the notes and he'd just have to hope it was covered in the book.

Next was potions; double with Gryffindor. She would be there, she never missed class. It was hard to know what Snape would do if he didn't show up, he probably knew by now that he had refused to be a death eater. Snape probably wouldn't do him any favors for that, he thought he would probably be lucky to be treated as well as the Gryffindors. He walked into class just as the bell was ringing and sat behind a cauldron in the back.

It was a practical lesson, they were brewing pixie repellent and it wasn't too complicated if you knew how to decipher Snape's instructions. Crabbe and Goyle kept trying to get his attention from two rows ahead, but he pretended that he didn't notice. Eventually they stopped and moved on to trying to ruin the potions of the golden trio, an old favorite activity. The only problem was they were sitting on the other side of the room, and they had to use magic to get the ingredients to fly far enough to get in their cauldrons. Of course their aim and concentration was so bad that they kept accidently flicking bits of newt and snake skin on him and in his potion.

It was easy to ignore them though, but it was hard to not look at her. They were sitting in the back row and she was just across the aisle from him. It was hard not to watch her, he had never noticed how relaxed she was. He had always assumed that because she was so precise and uptight that she never relaxed, but since the potion wasn't difficult she smiled and laughed. It was like she radiated a gentle glow like sunlight, it was hard not to bask in it.

He was cutting up a bit of mandrake root and ignoring the newt eye that had mistakenly been flicked onto his cutting board when suddenly the knife flew out of his hand and straight into his left arm. Crabbe or Goyle must have lost concentration when floating something and accidently caught the knife in the spell. Someone screamed, but he didn't move; only stared at the long silver knife that he could see had completely pierced his arm by the elbow.

More people were screaming, blood was pooling under his arm on the table, some of it dribbled into his potion and it sent up sparks and clouds of thick black smoke. He couldn't feel it. It was like he couldn't feel anything anymore, like he didn't exist. It wasn't fair, why did he have to feel this way. He reached down and yanked the knife out. There was blood everywhere but it was like it belonged to someone else, he didn't feel anything looking at it, it didn't scare him which worried him and made the numbness worse.

Someone pulled him from the smoke, Snape was at his cauldron trying to undo the damage and screaming for everyone to get out, but there was hardly anyone left in the classroom.

"Get him to the hospital wing." Snape barked at the person standing behind him, the one who had pulled him away from the cauldron. It was her, Granger, she had dropped his arm and pulled a handkerchief from her bag and she tied it deftly around his arm to slow the bleeding and grabbed his other arm and walked him out the door.

"I'll meet you back in the commons." She called over her shoulder to Potter and Weasley.

"Maybe we should go with you." Ron said with a not so subtle look at Draco. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I think I can manage." She said turning and dragging him along with her.

It wasn't until they had gotten out of the dungeons that she spoke again.

"Do you think you can make it to the hospital wing?" She asked, looking straight ahead. He settled for nodding in response, unsure what to say, images from his dreams kept breaking into his mind when he looked at her. "It's just that you're bleeding quite a lot, I know a spell that would stop it, but I haven't ever done it before and I don't want to use it unless I have to."

He opened his mouth to say that everything was alright, but he couldn't quite form the words, everything had gotten unfocused and it felt like someone had put cotton in his ears and he couldn't hear. He didn't remember falling, but when he opened his eyes he was on the floor.

"Malfoy can you hear me?" She asked, brushing hair out of her face. She looked so concerned it was ridiculous; he knew that she hated him but she was still worried. She was the only one who was worried, Crabbe and Goyle had been the first ones out the door when the spell went wrong. They were more concerned with getting in trouble than about him, Pansy and Blaise hadn't stuck around either, Snape had handed him off like it was some unpleasant task he couldn't be bothered with. Of all people she had to be the one to be concerned, the one he had taken so much pleasure in humiliating.

He couldn't help it, looking up into her eyes that only held concern and should have held distain; he laughed.

"Fuck off Granger." He said, still laughing shallowly. "You can't make me love you."

He was barely aware that she stood up and didn't notice that she left, everything was unfocused again, and then he couldn't see anything at all.


	5. I Think I'm Sorry

Authors Note: Thanks to all of my readers, and especially to those of you who review (it makes me feel loved). Sorry updates are taking so long, I've been super busy and started two other stories and I'm trying to make the chapters a little bit longer since they have been on the short side. Thanks for your support, cheers!

When he woke up he was in the hospital wing, he didn't even have to open his eyes to know, the whole place smelled like disinfectant with lingering traces of some horrible potion underneath. His arm ached in a vague kind of way, he opened his eyes to see the damage but it was already wrapped in gauze. Someone had taken off his robes and he was naked down to the waist, most of the blood had been wiped away probably to make sure that he wasn't injured anywhere else.

The curtain had been drawn around his bed, but he could see shadows through it walking toward him.

"…been too late." He heard Madame Pomfrey say to the other figure.

"I felt terrible just leaving him there," It was Granger's voice, it bothered him how quickly he realized it, and how glad he was that she was there, "but I didn't know if I could do that spell successfully so I ran up here as fast as I could."

"I can't even imagine what you children get up to, I'll be sure to have a word with professor Snape."

"Before I go Madame Pomfrey, I was hoping that you could show me a few basic healing spells, I've been reading this book but I just don't feel comfortable experimenting with these types of spells."

"You'll have to help me with my patients, but I'll show you a few basic spells that you might find useful."

"Thanks Madame Pomfrey that would be wonderful."

The curtain was pulled back and they were standing in front of him. He felt odd in front of her; he didn't like looking like an invalid. It was already bad enough that she had seen him drunk on the train and thought he was sick, and then seen him passed out in a pool of his own blood; he really didn't want to add sick in bed to the list.

"Can I go know?" He asked Madame Pomfrey, trying to ignore Hermione completely.

"No!" She told him, taking his pulse. "Mr. Malfoy you lost so much blood you almost died, you must stay in the hospital wing until I am satisfied that you are no longer anemic."

"How long will that take?"

"Three days, possibly four."

"What? No. No, I won't be staying here four days. I'm fine."

"Mr. Malfoy you are not fine." She looked at him quite intently and he knew that it was useless to argue with her, and besides he could always sneak out later. "Now that you are awake and in stable condition I can fix your hand, this might hurt a little."

He had forgotten about his hand, and when he remembered he couldn't help but look up at her, she was still standing by the curtain watching silently. He could feel his face redden as remembered the dream, and he looked away as Madame Pomfrey did something to his hand that felt like she was moving pieces of it around.

"There, it was just a small fracture." She said, pleased with her work. Her mouth opened to say something else but they could hear the doors open and someone moaning and she bustled off before she would say whatever it was she intended. She turned around when she reached the curtain and looked at Hermione. "Watch him for a few minutes will you and make sure he stays immobile." She said, twitching the curtain closed with Hermione on the inside.

She turned to him and smiled nervously.

He thought his life couldn't get much worse when she asked;

"What happened to your hand?"

"I fell down." He said, looking determinedly at the ceiling.

"Oh. What about the scars on your back, I don't remember anything like that happening to you here."

"I fell down." He said, trying to control his voice. It was difficult, even with the somewhat proper sleep he had gotten the night before he felt tired down to his bones, it had been a while since his last drink and his whole body ached, and he couldn't remember the last time he ate. His head felt light and it was hard to think beyond the moment, hard to control himself.

"What about the scars on your arm?"

"I fell down." He said.

"Isn't that where Buckbeak clawed you?" She asked, obviously knowing it was the truth and feeling a bit smug about having caught him in such an obvious lie."

"Right, whatever."

"Madame Pomfrey found your flask you know." She told him, clearly glad to be on firmer ground and telling him off.

"Granger, I really don't fucking care." She was quiet for a while, but then said, "So what really happened to your hand?"

"I punched a wall."

"Why?"

"Because I thought it would turn into rainbows and kittens."

"Whatever the reason, it was really stupid." He wasn't about to argue with her, he knew it was stupid, and he wasn't about to be baited into telling her about the dream. It was awkward enough already.

"What really happened to your back?" She asked.

He didn't know why he snapped, his whole body ached and he wanted to sleep and desperately wanted a drink but it still surprised him when he turned to her and looked into her eyes and said, "I swear that if you ask about that again or if you tell another living soul I won't rest until I see you dead at my feet."

He had threatened her before, and even meant it before, but this time he could see a real flicker of fear in her eyes (although she set her jaw stubbornly and refused to show it otherwise). When he saw that fear it seemed to slice through him. He didn't want her to be afraid of him; he didn't want her to be afraid at all.

"Sorry," he said, rubbing his eyes with his good hand and leaning back, "I don't mean that, I just don't talk about it."

She was silent so he looked at her again, her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open and she was leaning away from him like he was something vile.

"Did you just apologize? To me?"

Looking at her he couldn't help but laugh, she obviously found his apology much more frightening than any threat he could have leveled at her. He didn't even realize that he shouldn't apologize to her, and for some reason he had meant it as well.

"I guess I did, Granger. I must be more ill than I thought."

"Should I get Madame Pomfrey?" She asked nervously. He shook his head, still smiling.

"Are you really ill?" She asked "Not because of the blood loss or anything, but really sick?"

"What do you mean?" He asked

"On the train you seemed sick, and then you were totally spaced out in potions and didn't look very well even before you got stabbed."

"Keeping tabs on me, Granger?"

"I'm just trying to figure things out."

"You shouldn't." He said "There are some things you really don't want to know and someday you'll figure them out and you'll never be able to go back."

It felt good, just talking with her; it was so hard to talk to anyone anymore. They all wanted something from him; they all wanted him to be someone he didn't feel like anymore. She wasn't really any different, she also thought she knew who he was, but at least she noticed that something had changed unlike the others.

"I can take care of myself." She said, turning pink. He smirked. It was true that she was a formidable witch in the classroom, but he doubted that she could squish spiders much less handle herself in a real fight, and the pink in her face told him that she doubted it too.

"Sure, Granger" he said.

"I can!" She said, even though she clearly didn't believe it.

"You can handle yourself in a classroom. The real world is different. The real world is messy and difficult and sometimes you have to be willing to do some dirty things, but you, you can't do that, you don't even know what that looks like, you can't even imagine."

She was quiet, still red and clearly trying to think of something meaningful to say to prove she knew what she was doing when Madame Pomfrey returned with a quick whip of the curtain.

"Honestly, first years, they get a wand and think they can just stick it anywhere they like, it's amazing it doesn't happen to more of them." She was holding a smoking cup of something. "Mr. Malfoy, drink this, it will help your body regenerate the blood that you lost and help you sleep."

"I don't want it." He said, turning red and trying not to look at Hermione.

"What?" Madame Pomfrey said, clearly taken aback that he had interpreted her order as negotiable in any way.

"I don't want to take another sleeping potion, the last one you gave me made me feel horrible." She rolled her eyes at him.

"The sleeping is just a side effect of this potions, it has entirely different ingredients, I'm sure it will be fine. Now drink it quickly, I have other patients you know."

He drank the potion quickly and Hermione followed Madame Pomfrey away from his bed and twitched the curtain closed and he was alone. Sleep came quickly and dreamlessly, but as he fell asleep he thought of her, and smiled.


End file.
